coalesce
by songs
Summary: they grow into that first-last love, just as it grew into them. i hear your voice; — su-ha ო hye-sung.


**title:** coalesce

**pairing: **hye-syung ო soo-ha.

**summary: **They grow into that first-last love, just as it grew into them. Three moments, post series. — sh ო hs.

**disclaimer: **I OWN NOTHING. But seriously, watch this drama. You will NOT REGRET IT IN THE LEAST.

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I.

They start sleeping in the same room because of Hye-sung's nightmares. At first Su-ha sleeps on the floor, because even though they're _together, _there's still that tentative, wispy angle of their physicality, their skin-on-skin intimacy. It's first love, second love, third love and last love growing in soul and bones and soon to be skin, but they are still young in that way, still new to that shade of touch.

But when Hye-sung wakes up-screaming, crying, remembering her mother, her mother who did not pass down her prophetic eyes (Hye-sung still believes her sight is half-rotten) but gave her daughter her dreams- Su-ha is there to hold her, to anchor her, to bring her back. And soon enough, the same room becomes the same bed, the same skin, the same sheets, and they grow into that first-last love, just as it grew into them.

II.

Su-ha's worst fears come back to life on his second year of the job: there is a gun in his hand, and there is a man with a knife, a man holding a woman by the neck, a woman bleeding, a woman crying, a woman too young not to grow old, a woman with moonlike eyes, a woman with Hye-sung's eyes,_ Hye-sung-ah_— and that is where his thoughts break. It's a memory until it isn't, a promise until it isn't: Min-joon-gook, a wrench, and blood, Hye-sung's blood, red blood, red thoughts, red everything except for his hands, hands that promised not to kill.

His hands tremble. The gun almost slips twice: there's no backup for at least a mile, it's only him and this mirror-memory, and he wants nothing more than to run away, erase this echo of the past—

The knife is digging deeper into the apple-white of the woman's neck, and Su-ha catches a glimpse of her eye: _Omma, I'm sorry I couldn't outlive you. I'm sorry everyone is gone._

Su-ha shoots.

For a a moment, the world is white—_Hye-sung-ah, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_— until the man falls, screams, clutching at his bloom-red knee, and the Hye-sung-eyed-woman crumples to the ground, sobbing and alive, and the sirens begin to shrill, and the man's hands are cuffed and the woman is thanking him over and over and all he hears is _Good work, kid, good work _and it's supposed to be a Happily Ever After, only it's not, only he feels like something in his eyes has opened, a reminder that he is too young, too green, too weak, not strong enough and still afraid.

A boy's soul in boy's skin in a man's uniform with a hero's dream.

That night, Hye-sung congratulates him with a kiss to the neck, to the jaw. She is gentle, still a little shy, even after all this time-but as she trails to his lips, he feels something inside of him falter, and he holds her by the shoulders, searching her gaze for a moment, wishing, more than anything, that for just this second she could read his mind.

And she can't, but she's _there, _and it is enough, so he pulls her in close and simply holds her, rocking, back and forth, listening to her voice go gentle: _I'm here, I'm here, I'm here-_and she's never sounded more beautiful to him, never, never, never.

III.

When Su-ha asks Hye-sung where she wants go for her twenty-ninth birthday, he reads her mind a moment before she can swallow the thought: _L'Chateau Eaterie._

It's expensive, it's French, and it's definitely _not somewhere she wants to go, _she insists. She's much rather sit and watch a baseball game in their living room (when it stopped being "hers" and began being "theirs" she'll never know), with beer-hats and tuna-rice and pajamas.

She knows that he knows that he does _not _even need his mind-reading ability to see through that one. So four hours later, Hye-sung finds herself in high heels, a sparkling dress, in a candle-lit, piano-trilled room.

She feels ten years old again as her eyes widen and take in the sights around her: a crystal chandelier, silk-white tablecloths, bone-necked champagne bottles dotted with rose petals.

Su-ha grins as if asking, _Do you like it? _And she kicks her legs excitedly under the table. She feels Su-ha's legs wrap around her ankles from underneath the table the same moment the waitress arrives at the table.

She is tall and pin-thin with makeup-pale wrinkles around her eyes. She smiles with red lips at Hye-sung as she asks:

"Anything to drink, m'am?"

For a moment, she ponders: I_ don't know if I want to get the white wine or not-it's expensive-_but her train of thought is cut off by Su-ha's voice:

"She'll have the white wine." She manages to shoot him one of her best I-am-not-amused-with-your-telepathy-glares. He grins right back at her, shooting a wink before he adds, "And I'll have the same, please."

The woman's eyes remain trained on Hye-sung. Her voice is thin and nasal as she recites, "I'm sorry, miss, but we don't serve alcohol to minors here. Your_ little brother_ will have to order something else." Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "We aren't a street-bar."

There's a snarl in her voice and Hye-sung catches the sudden shyness in Su-ha's eyes, the downward crane of his neck, the red in his cheeks. His legs untangle from her, and she can see him pointedly looking away from the woman.

It isn't the first time this happens, and probably won't be the last, but Hye-sung feels her eyes narrow instantly, feels her hands subconsciously reach for Su-ha's as she says, tone sharp:

"My _date _is over twenty-one." She squeezes Su-ha's hand. "And he ordered the white wine. If you refuse him again, you could be sued for prejudicial profiling and even fired for poor conduct and service." She smiles. "Understand?"

The woman steps back in an instant, a murmured, "Sorry" caught between her teeth as she slips away as Hye-sung calls out: "Oh, and your concealer is flaking!"

Su-ha stares at her, a bit in awe, a bit in gratitude, a bit in exasperation, and a bit in something she can't quite read.

There's a shy smile on his lips, but his words are typical, angled Su-ha: "You didn't have to," he manages, the telling red still in his skin.

Her smile goes soft, "I did," she says, and her lips quirk mischievously. "We should get going, though. That witch should be back soon."

When the realization dawns on him, his face lights up, but he whispers, "We can't-"

She beams. "Live a little, gumwad!" and with that, her grasp on his hand tightens, and he grabs her bag ("You've almost lost this one _twice_!) and they rush out of the restaurant, hand-in-hand, a cross-stitch of fingers and palms and laughter and Su-ha's whispered _thank you,_ _Jjang-byun _as they make their way home.


End file.
